Friday, November 11, 2011

FLIP YOUR SCRIPT: "The Night Before My First Day of School"

NOTE TO READERS: Last spring, I began experimenting with a writing exercise called "FLIP YOUR SCRIPT," designed to promote empathy and forgiveness. This weekend I will be presenting the exercise at a conference at Amherst College sponsored by the Association for Contemplative Mind in Higher Education. You can read more about the exercise at the Happiness class blog. In this post, Francheska Roque presents part one of her script. Be sure to read the way Roque "flips" her script in a heart-wrenching Part Two!!

By Francheska Roque

I was only five years old and I was just about to start kindergarten. My mom used a blow dryer on my short black hair, wanting her daughter to look beautiful on her first day.

I wore a white-collared shirt with a plaid skirt as long as my legs. My uniform was perfectly laid out on the bed ready to be ironed and cleared of wrinkles. My first day of school was going to be perfect, or so I thought. Now, let me just say that I loved my father with all my heart and I’m sure he loved me too. For those first five years of my life it was as if he dedicated his whole life to me.

To be honest, I think I preferred him over my mother. He would give me everything I wanted and did everything to favor me. He would come home every night looking exhausted from work, or at least that’s what I thought he was doing. And every night he would bring home something for me. Whether it was a candy, a toy or even a dollar, he had something for me. When he didn’t come, he would make up for it on the weekend with something even better.

That particular night though everything was different.

My house was huge: two bathrooms, four rooms, a two-sided living room and a kitchen. To a young girl like me, my house seemed like a mansion. I thought nobody had a house as big as mine. Well, except for those people on TV. Out of all the rooms in the house though, my parent’s room was my favorite.

I had my own room but I felt more comfortable in theirs. They had a huge bed that I could roll across ten times and still not fall off. Their heater seemed to always be on but they kept the window open which sort of made the room just the right temperature. Not to mention the TV in their room was bigger than any other TV in the entire house. Their room was just right.

That night, I laid in their bed watching TV waiting for “Papi” to get home, to see what he had gotten for that day. It was taking him longer than usual, however. My mom was in the kitchen and wouldn’t get off the phone. I think she spent her entire night on the phone. From the tone of her voice I could tell things weren’t good.

After a couple minutes I heard the door; the person had keys and opened the door so I automatically knew it was my dad. I was just about to jump off the bed and run to him but before I even got the chance all I heard was screaming and things slamming all over the place. “Lárgate de aquí! No te quiero ver en mi casa mas nunca!” which translate into “Get out of my house, I never want to see you here again!” That was all I heard coming from my mother.

It went on for almost an hour. I was afraid and couldn’t help the tears running from my eyes, a stream from my nose and past my lips. All I wanted to do was to run to my dad and hug him. My mom kept telling me not to come out of the room though. I waited and waited till waiting felt like years and I couldn’t wait any more. I ran out of the room as quickly as possible to my father who was about to go down the stairs to leave the house.

I gave him the biggest hug that a daughter could give a father and asked him where he was going. He didn’t give me a direct answer though, he simply said “I’ll be back soon.” But something just didn’t feel right. He followed by asking me to “Besarle la mano,” and I responded “Bendición papi.” (In my culture this is the way that you pay respect to the elders in your family by blessing them).

Now, I am an eighteen year old, a freshman in college. That night before I started my first day of kindergarten was the last time I ever saw my dad. I have not spoken to him nor have I heard a single word about my “father” since that night.Francheska Roque is a freshman at the University at Albany, SUNY. She intends to be a business major.

"Take Hold of Seeing Red With Your Hands, Your Fingers..."

August 7, 2011 “…take hold of this book with your fingers, your hands, your arms. It’s that human.Ricci has not only crafted wonderfully-flawed characters, she has brilliantly painted in the scenery around those characters.” Sandy Prisant, Wordsmith Wars.

"You Forget You're Reading, You Just Feel Like You're There!"

"With a book as artfully written as Seeing Red, it only takes a few pages to become immersed in Ronda’s world. For a time you won’t even know you’re reading; you’ll just feel like you’re there."
--Emily Suess, Suess' Pieces, July 22, 2011

Readers Rave About "Seeing Red"

July 7, 2011

“I finished Seeing Red!!! Great book!! You really have a gift for writing such compelling novels. I couldn't put it down. I loved the whole part in Spain. It made me want to move to another country. GREAT JOB!!!!!!!”

– P.M. Woods, author, Spinning Will

July 6, 2011

“I am having the best experience reading your book. I would love to see the bookmade into a movie. You are a genius, you have amazing talent…write more!”--Ruth Horowitz,Boca Raton, Florida

June 27, 2011

“I just finished Seeing Red this a.m.! The last 100 pages of that book fly! Your leading lady, with the help and encouragement of others, allows all her dreams to come true! I like this buoyed up narrative. Even when you discuss traumatic events, within a few pages, you’ve disentangled Ronda, so your reader knows that it’s her inner struggles that cause her the most angst. So in all, a *nourishing* read! I get the feeling this is somehow autobiographical, at least the son, Jack. And your descriptions are so VIVID. I could see everyone and everything. And as I mentioned the other day, your secondary characters are painted so strongly. They’re all wonderful, and I wish I knew them personally.What makes this book so interesting and worthwhile, is that it is all about reaching personal fulfillment and happiness (imagine fiction doing that)! Even in her darkest places, Ronda comes through for herself and others. You’ve given her (and us) a sense of possibility and resolution. Your work reminds us that, despite obstacles (some quite severe) happy, even celebratory, endings are indeed possible! This is perhaps the HAPPIEST novel I’ve ever read! It made me feel good, and as I said, nourished.”

--Nancy Dunlop, Ph.D., Delmar, New York

June 4, 2011

“I finished reading Seeing Red a few days ago. Thank you for a wonderful story! Ronda is a scrappy heroine with whom many of us can identify. She reinvents herself, with some uncertainty, but with determination, too. Her husband is such a jerk! The oily Enrique is thoroughly detestable, too. Leely and Freida are spirited, assertive ladies who refuse to fit a mold. I know I must now read Dreaming Maples. Keep writing Claudia!”

-- Christine McKnight, Schuylerville, N.Y.

June 1, 2011

“Well Claudia I just got done crying, at 12:30 a.m. after finishing Seeing Red. I stayed up late four nights in a row reading Ronda's journey, and out of all it, it was Jack that got me sobbing. I enjoyed Ronda's journey through Spain, the process of her learning to dance, her friends in Spain, the trip in the caves! I love her driver! I love her figuring out (through Leely) that men have dictated so much of what she thinks about herself. I like that she had a lot of doubts, I never trust characters who have a few paragraphs of doubt and then move on, charging ahead. Most of us revisit our doubts a lot. It's part of the process and you conveyed that well. And I really like that her journey had so many detours. It wasn't just “go to Spain, take on a few hurdles, and voila, the results are in.” It was a lot of detours and I like that. I love the part about the shawl and her dancing, so powerful!!! You really conveyed that transition and the power of the shawl very well. (And I believe a light, flowered shawl is symbolic of being wrapped in love.) Also, I love the party! Wow, what a book!!!”